Oh, Christine
by hollandchels
Summary: Leroux, EC. Christine has kept her promise to Erik by staying with him, but will they find the happiness that Erik was once so sure they would? By Chels
1. Chapter One

A/N: I just wished to say that this story is much different than the ones I write with Holl.

Although Holl helped advise me on this story a bit, it mostly centralizes around Erik's thoughts, and is entirely my work.

This story is based on events happening in Leroux, only with a different perspective based on my own wonderings. It also changes the ending a bit, so that, although Christine did not wish to, she felt she should keep her promise to Erik by remaining with him and not leaving with Raoul.

The story takes place one month after Christine Daae's last performance, and is in Erik's house by the lake.

Please give this new story a chance, and review to let me know how I can improve.

Thanks.

_Chels_

_Chapter One_

_Oh, Christine._

I think it every time I see you.

You poor, wretched girl.

What must I do? I know that I am capable of a tender, gentle love. You could have it, if you accepted me. But no, you have not. You have not seen past this _face_. You cannot forget these hands. You will never forget my past actions, which, admittedly, were ill-begotten, but how many times have I asked your forgiveness, Christine? What more do you want, than a grown man in a sobbing heap at your feet, asking you what he must do to earn your trust and forgiveness? Are you truly _that_ heartless?

Why have you stayed here with me, only to bring misery upon us both? Why did you not _listen_ to me? I knew what was best for the both of us, promises be damned. But oh, my little Christine, you felt you must do the honorable thing: keep your promise to be my living wife. The boy is gone now, Christine, and he's never coming back. You have lost your chance. We will be forced to live this way for all of eternity. Can you not accept it?

But, my darling, I do not want you this way. I admit, there was a time when I would want you under any circumstances, your happiness not truly mattering to me. I was once a selfish man. I am not any longer. I only want you, if you are happy. And as you lie in your bedroom, tears streaming down your cheeks — I know they are without even looking — I know that you are unhappy. So, so unhappy, to the point of not wishing to live any longer. Oh, Christine, have I driven you to this point? Am I truly that terrible?

I simply do not know what to do for you any longer. I love you, Christine. Every ounce of previously untapped love within me goes directly to you. But you'll hear nothing of that, will you?


	2. Chapter Two

A/N: Just a quick word here. . .

First of all, thank you so much for the reviews. They really provide the encouragement I need to continue, this being the first independent phic I've written that is worth publishing (or so I am told).

Please note that I purposely have not included any Christine POV, apart from thoughts. Thank you, and please enjoy the chap :)

_Chapter Two_

_Oh Christine._

You sit at the breakfast table, barely picking at the extravagant breakfast I have laid out before you.

I can almost hear the questions running through your currently one-tracked mind.

_Will Raoul ever return for me?_ you wonder helplessly.

No, Christine, I daresay that boy has caught a train and traveled as far away from Paris possible.

_Will _anyone_ ever find me?_

I seriously doubt it, dear.

_Do they even remember me?_

I'm sure they do, but memories fade.

_Will I be forced to live this way forever more?_

Yes, unfortunately for you. However, if you would only speak one word to me, I promise that things would get better. I swear it. Have I ever lied to you, Christine?

As a starting point, perhaps you could ask me one of the questions that currently haunts you. Certainly I would have the answer, and your mind would be at ease once more.

But instead, I find you barely whispering that you are quite finished, and you rise from the table to retreat to your room once more.

Is that room your sanctuary, Christine?

Yes, I suppose it is.

But sanctuary from what?

I would never hurt you; I only love you.

But do you realize that?


	3. Chapter Three

_Chapter Three_

_Oh, Christine._

You confronted me today, if one could refer to our exchange as such. You asked me, so delicately, if you would ever be allowed back to the surface world.

Oh, my dear, the look in your eyes! The look of pure hope, desperation, and veiled sadness, it melted my heart. If only you knew what you did to me.

I replied no, that you would not go anywhere without me, as we are wed now.

You wept, Christine, though you when I asked if you hated me, you assured me that you did not, a dozen times over.

"Then why do you cry," I asked you.

"I am homesick," you replied shortly, your tears suddenly ceasing.

I said nothing for a long while, before replying, "This is your home now," and shutting myself up into my room.

I hear you do the same, as I bring my _Don Juan Triumphant_ to front. This pain you are inflicting upon us both, it is just too much to bear! I need to get away.

I play, and play, and continue to play, still. I play until I can feel tears streaming down my cheeks, beneath my mask. The mask. Both my savior and my bane.

I play until my fingers are raw and sore from the extended contact with the fine ivory of the keys.

Finally I am finished.

My breath is baited, my pulse elevated, my hands shaking slightly as I pull the mask off my face and throw it to the ground.

I hear you moving about in your own bedroom, as I sit completely still at the organ.

What are you doing, I wonder?

I hear you unbolt your door, and draw closer to my room.

Why? Can you not leave me to peace, in this moment of vulnerability?

You enter the room, and collapse to the ground. I do not turn around.

Oh, Christine, my beautiful Christine, why do you cry?


	4. Chapter Four

A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews. You all are very kind, and I am so glad you are enjoying the story. :)

_Chapter Four_

_Oh, Christine._

You have left me now, returned to your bedroom, claiming you require rest.

But oh, how differently I feel now that you have visited me.

Your tears, you said, were caused by my _Don Juan_. You said you were moved by it, that you understood my torment. All this you told me through heavy tears streaming down your porcelain cheeks.

"Turn around," you moaned, "at least allow me the courtesy of seeing your face as I speak to you."

I did so, without reluctance. You did not flinch. You hardly blinked. You must have noticed the mask was on the ground upon coming in.

"Forgive me," you pleaded. "I have been a horrible, horrible wife, and you do not deserve it."

Shock settled in.

"Oh, Erik, yes, I do care! I do care about your happiness. . ."

I merely blinked as you crawled up closer to the organ bench, resting your forehead against my shin as you sobbed.

Oh, Christine! The joy which filled me at the contact. I dared to reach down and stroke your curls, attempting to comfort you.

It only made you cry harder.

"I cry now not with sadness," you assured me suddenly, "but with happiness, for I know you have forgiven me. Haven't you, master?"

I stared at you, before speaking, "Yes, Christine. But I am no longer your master. Or your angel. I am simply Erik."

"Oh, but you'll always be my angel. I have not forgotten all that you have done for me." Your tears have subsided, and you now gaze up at me. I see not a trace of fear in your eyes.

"Wait here." You leave the room, returning quickly, a stack of papers clutched in your hands. You thrust them at me.

"Here. I wrote these for. . . for. . . Raoul. . . but, I think you should have them."

Confusedly, I accept the parchment, and was just about to question you, before you lean down.

And you kiss my forehead.

Oh, the happiness! The privilege!

Your angelic lips have touched my skin, and I begin weeping again.

Before I can speak, you do, though you seem to be thinking the same thing as I.

"I must go and lie down, my husband," you say shyly, a slight blush rising in your still moist cheeks, before turning and exiting the room.

And now I sit alone, the most unfamiliar sense of contentment filling me, for I know you have accepted me.

You do not love me, but you accept me.

That alone brings me closer to heaven than I ever thought possible.


	5. Chapter Five

A/N: my-echo said: They belong together. They just do.

I whole-heartedly agree :)

Thank you so much, all of you, for the reviews, and on with the chap

_Chapter Five_

_Oh, Christine._

The simple nearness of you makes me smile with quiet delight.

We stroll near Lake Averne. I dare to offer you my arm, and you link it with yours, thanking me quietly.

We walk in silence, before I speak of the papers you relinquished to me exactly one week ago.

I read them at a greedily fast pace, eager to know what they were about.

Eleven pages, there were, filled with your account of recent events.

In the pages, you were speaking to your former lover, the vicomte, but I see now why you decided to give them to me.

Snippets of the text will be forever engraved in my memory.

"_Oh, Raoul_," you wrote, your script oddly sloppy, as if you were trying to record your many thoughts as quickly as possible, "_This feeling, this sensation, when I sing with him! When I am in a room with him! Beyond the fear, and the mystery, there is something more, something that I do not understand."_ A smile had graced my lips as I read those words, a smile of pure satisfaction. _"Perhaps what I feel is evil, Raoul, for it is so nice, yet so unknown, and I have never felt it for you before."_

And later on: _"Oh, Raoul, I am so sorry. What I feel for you is simple, innocent. . . almost completely platonic in its chastity. But Raoul, with Erik, it's so different! He frightens me, yet he thrills me; I want to be as far away from him as possible, but at the same time, I never wish to leave! I stay with him for the sake of pity, but also, because I would have it no other way. Oh, Raoul, if only you understood. . . I wasn't completely truthful that night on the rooftop. . . I cannot say more. I am sorry, dear."_

I speak with you of these passages, and you merely look away and blush a deep crimson.

"What you said to the boy on the rooftop. . . what was untruthful about it?" I ask you.

"Oh, Erik," you murmur. "Where to begin? It is not so much as I lied. . . I simply did not tell the whole truth, or avoided his questions altogether. . ."

I wait in silence for an example.

"He mentioned me hiding a love. . . accused me of loving more than one man. . . I denied it. . ."

A silence.

"But perhaps that is true," you whisper finally.

I turn towards you, though I do not speak. I only lean down slightly; you raise on your toes to help me plant a soft kiss on your forehead.

Closing my eyes, I allow my lips to linger on your skin longer than necessary. You do not object; you simply close your eyes, and sigh softly.

I pull apart. "Come, dear," I say. "It is getting late."

We walk back to the house in a comfortable silence, arms linked once more.

My mind is not entirely at ease, however. Although you answered me, your answers have only brought forth a new batch of questions.

But I realize that you need time.


	6. Chapter Six

_Chapter Six_

_Oh, Christine._

As I sit in the drawing room, reading, you enter, and come to kneel by my side.

"Erik?" you whisper shyly. "Tell me a story?"

I set down my book without a qualm and begin to tell you an old Arabic folktale. You've heard it dozens of times before, but I know it is one of your favorites.

A small smile graces your lips as I weave the tale for you once again, my smooth voice becoming the only sound to be heard throughout the house.

I finish, and reach out to pat your hand, which has come to rest on the arm of my chair.

"You must be tired now, my sweet."

You clear your throat slightly, as if to stiffen some unknown resolve, before replying, "No, Erik."

"Another story, then?"

"No. . . I must talk to you."

"Proceed."

You glance away, as if thinking a moment, before speaking. "Erik. . . it has been very difficult to forgive you, for what you did on the night of my last performance."

A silence, as my surprise at your chosen topic settles in. "Yes. . . It would be. I lost my head, Christine. I realize that is not an appropriate explanation for what I did, but it is the truth."

"Yes. . . I know. . . You are not a bad man, Erik."

I am surprised to find tears gathering in your eyes. "I am not. . .?"

"No. No, you are not. I was blinded, by what everyone else said. . . But I know you better than they do, and I alone know that you are a good man."

"I suppose so," I reply, wondering where you are going with this.

"And I pray that you can forgive me, for being led astray so easily, by those who know nothing. . ." A single tear rolls down your cheek, and I gently wipe it away. You smile slightly.

"I forgive you, Christine, for anything you have ever done wrong to me, if you'll forgive me for all the horrible things I've done to you."

"Oh, Erik!" you exclaim. "Teaching me to sing? Is that horrible? Music is my salvation! I could not live without it! I cannot properly express my thanks to you for that. . ." You sniffle, before continuing, "I do forgive you, Erik, truly I do."

"Alright then," I say. "No more tears, then, dear, it's alright. . ."

You stop crying and manage a smile that I cannot help but return.

"I am ready to accept the responsibility of being your wife now, Erik," you say, sounding quite official. "It is time now that I kept our vows. And Erik?"

"Yes, Christine?"

"Can we. . . begin to sing again? I miss it so."

"If you so desire it, then certainly."

You smile once more, and gaze into my eyes, before replying, "Thank you, Erik."

"Of course. Anything for you Christine."

"Yes. . . I know. . ." You rise to your tiny feet, and all too quickly, raise the corner of my mask just enough so that you can place a kiss on my cheek.

I stare at you as you carefully replace the mask as it was prior to your kiss, and find myself whispering, "Christine. . ."

In reply, I receive only a simple, "Goodnight, Erik."


	7. Chapter Seven

A/N: Thanks for the reviews; I love you guys :)

_Chapter Seven_

_Oh, Christine._

As stealth as you try to be, I can still hear you enter the drawing room, even over the music the piano and I are creating.

You place a small hand on my shoulder, to attract my attention and get me to stop playing, and after ten or so measures, I do so.

"Erik," you say quietly, "you have been playing for quite a long time now."

"That is what I do."

"Yes, I know. . . but I am concerned that you don't eat enough."

"Your point in this being?"

"Erik, you are my husband, and it's my job to take care of you. . . Please, come into the kitchen and eat something. I have cooked a small meal of what little I could find, and I made some tea, as well."

"Thank you kindly, Christine, but I am not hungry."

"You never eat, Erik. I must insist that you do so now."

Your resolve surprises me. "I will eventually."

"No, the food will get cold and spoil. . . besides, I am lonely."

I could laugh at you, but that would be quite rude, and would likely result in hurt feelings. "Oh, so now you would like my company?"

"Yes," you reply, unshaken. "I admit without shame that I would."

I fall silent, rather surprised by how you are standing up to me, and all for my own good, too. "Alright, Christine." Your face lights up. "I will eat. . . after you sing for me."

"Sing what?" you ask suspiciously.

"Oh, dear, do not be so cynical of me. I simply would like to hear your voice; you said you wished to sing again, yourself."

"Yes, but not when there is food on the table. . ."

"Christine."

"Erik."

A silence. "Your strong will surprises me."

You blush slightly. "If I sing, do you promise you'll eat?"

"Yes."

"Alright then. . . _Faust._"

I play the introduction bars of the song we both have come to know so well, and our voice combine seamlessly together in the duet.

I feel my soul leaving my body, rising upward, climbing higher. . . but this time, it is not alone. No, your perfect, pure soul is there, as well, right beside mine.

Our souls entwine as we reach a crescendo which leads to the climax of the piece, before slowly floating back down to earth together, as the piece comes to a soft closing.

During the course of the song, you have taken your place behind me, a hand on each of my shoulders, your front flush against my back. I can feel the heavy rise and fall of your breast, and your hands giving my shoulders a gentle squeeze, but you do not pull away.

We remain there in silence, absorbing the sheer greatness of the experience we have just shared.

"Thank you, Christine," I finally whisper.


	8. Chapter Eight

_Chapter Eight_

_Oh, Christine._

You are standing too close, love, much too close.

You do not reply to my gratitude for some time, simply standing as close as you can to me, before whispering, "Erik. . ."

"Yes?" But I do not give you a chance to respond. I warned you you were standing too close, Christine.

In one smooth motion, I turn around on the bench, so that I am facing you. I pull you down into my lap, and bury my face in the crook of your neck, pressing frantic kisses to the pale flesh there, breathing in your delicate scent, drinking in your softness, taking what I have been waiting for.

I come to my senses, and prepare myself to feel you pushing me away. But that does not happen. The scorn, the tears, the hatred, the fear, they do not come. They seem to be miles away, as you wrap your arms around my neck, pulling me closer, and release soft sighs of what even I could identify as pleasure. "Erik. . ." you breathe.

"Christine," I murmur against your skin, before abruptly pulling away, and gaze into your eyes, unable to mask fear of the rejection I know is coming.

But it did not, as you throw me a confused look. "What are you doing. . .?" you ask.

"I must stop this. . . Excuse my lack of propriety," I mumble, beyond embarrassed.

"Erik, propriety hardly matters," you reply sternly. "You set the rules down here. . . and we are husband and wife. . . what you just did is what many husbands do to their wives," you add, a blush rising in your cheeks.

"And does it embarrass you?" I ask, noticing.

"Not so much the action itself," you reply evenly.

"Does me initiating the action embarrass you, then?" I ask, my spirits sinking.

"No. . . It is my reaction which embarrasses me. . ."

"Oh," I say, surprised and pleased all at once. "That is nothing to be embarrassed of. . ."

"Then. . . you are not disgusted with me?"

Your innocence is charming in its greatness. "Do not be silly, Christine." Though, I had of course been fearing you would be disgusted with me, as well. I then realize that we are two very unseasoned people, in that way, and neither one of us knows much more than the other. Perhaps this is good, in a way.

You seem to grow flustered. "Well, I'd just thought — "

I place a finger to your lips to silence you, and if I'm not horribly mistaken, I swear that I feel you place the softest of kisses to it as I do so.

"Never mind this," I say. "Forget what has occurred, and let us go eat this feast which you have so graciously prepared."

"I don't want to forget. . ." you whisper as soon as I remove my finger from your lips.

I pretend not to hear you.


	9. Chapter Nine

A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews, everyone; you have no idea how much I appreciate them. Glad that you all enjoyed the last chapter, and I hope you enjoy this one as well.

_Chapter Nine_

_Oh, Christine._

You lead me to the kitchen, as vague anticipation gathers within me. I find myself hoping, praying, that what you have prepared is palatable. It would do no good to either of us for me to show disgust at your meal.

As I take a seat at the table, I find neither the scent nor the sight of the food offending in any way. This is good.

"I made the tea on the samovar," you announce proudly. "_Russian_ tea, with lemon."

"Well done," I said, my tone full of honest praise. "But, Christine, you do not have to try so hard to impress me."

You blush. "Are my efforts that obvious?" you ask quietly.

"Well, I do not know about obvious, but some things concerning you, I simply know."

You throw me a glance which is a mixture of confusion and wonderment, before serving me.

You have prepared a rather simple meal, though I expected no more, as I keep little food in the house. You have boiled me some noodles, with a small, bruised peach and an unbuttered croissant on the side, along with a glass of red wine.

Although the components of the meal obviously are not compatible, I am sure that, together, they will make a decent meal.

But fact aside, I know in my heart I could tell you no less, due to the eager, slightly anxious expression on your face.

"Thank you, Christine. It looks delicious," I assure you.

You seem pleased, and finally take your seat opposite me, where you have prepared for yourself the same thing, minus the fruit.

I happen to know that you like peaches above all other fruits, and almost laugh at the way you keep throwing it longing glances as it sits beside my plate, thinking that I will not notice.

"Christine, would you like the peach?" I ask you quietly.

A small smile graces your lips at the offer, but you quickly force it away. "No, Erik, it is for you."

"That is sweet of you, dear, but please, you may have it." I hand you the fruit.

"Thank you," you say shyly, accepting it. "And Erik?"

"Yes?"

"Could you please not call me 'dear'?"

"Why ever not?"

"It makes me feel like a child; your fond niece, or pupil, as opposed to your wife," you say to your plate.

"Consider it done, darling," I reply softly.

Your face lights up.


	10. Chapter Ten

A/N: Thank you all so much for the reviews :) I am open to any suggestions on how to improve my writing; although the story is already completed and I have little intention of changing it, I will keep any criticisms in mind for my next piece. On with the chap.

_Chapter Ten_

_Oh, Christine._

We have finished our meal. You've a content smile on you lips, seeming pleased with yourself for cooking your husband dinner for the first time.

"Tired, my sweet?"

"No. . . not quite yet."

"Oh?" I am surprised, as it has grown a bit late, what with our slight detour in the drawing room, prior to dinner.

"Yes. . . Tell me a story?"

"Certainly," I say, rising from the table. "Come along."

You make to follow me, but then seem to remember something. "Oh, but I must clean up first. That is what a good wife does. . ." You begin to clear the plates.

"Yes, of course," I reply with a slight smile, before turning and making my way to the drawing room.

Soon enough, you join me, and to my surprise, instead of kneeling down beside me, you take a seat on my very lap.

"Christine. . .?" I ask you confusedly.

"What?" you asked, slightly impatient.

"What are you doing?"

"Sitting down," you reply, as if it were the most natural thing on earth to take a seat with me. "Am I too heavy?"

"No," I exclaim quickly, as you are hardly a feather on my lap. "I just. . . never mind. . ."

Doing my best to erase this moment of awkwardness, I launch in on my favorite story, the tale of the nightingale and the white rose.

You close your eyes, and appear to truly be thinking about my words. To my great surprise, I find your hand holding mine when I reach the point in the story where the nightingale courts the rose, but the rose refuses.

When I reach the climax of the tale, the rose accepting the nightingale, you lace your soft, slender fingers with my skeletal ones and give my hand a gentle squeeze.

I try not to think too much of your actions.

"I knew you would select that one," you say warmly, once I am finished.

Staring at our joined hands, I reply, "Yes. . . a favorite of mine. . . You should be off to bed now, dear — I mean, darling."

You smile, and press a gentle kiss to my hand.

Oh, but do I deserve such affection from you, a true angel?

"Yes, I suppose so. . . Goodnight, Erik," you whisper, rising from my lap.

I stare at you as you exit the room. You seem to have grown up, Christine. You are hardly a little girl any longer, and when you told me you were ready to accept the responsibilities of being a wife, you did not lie.

Once I am certain you are in bed, I rise from the chair and retire to my bedroom, though I do not rest. Instead, I begin to re-read the papers you gave me, for at least the fifth time.


	11. Chapter Eleven

A/N:)

_Chapter Eleven_

_Oh, Christine._

I am still reading when I hear you approaching my bedroom.

I turn to find you, standing in the doorway, clad in a pale blue nightgown and a thin robe. Quickly I turn back away; I am not used to seeing you in so little clothing. You do not seem embarrassed, though looks can be deceiving.

"What is wrong, Christine?"

"I can't sleep," you reply lazily, taking a step closer to me. "Erik," you ask, concerned, "when do you sleep?"

"Whenever I feel the need to. . . which is not too often," I reply, still not looking at you.

"Why do you avert your eyes?" you ask innocently.

"You are not dressed. . ."

"So?" you reply, drawing closer to me still. "You are my husband. . . it should not matter. . ."

"What would you like?" I ask, still not looking at you.

You reach down to hold my hand, but do not speak.

"Some tea?" I suggest, staring at our hands.

Gently, you cup my chin and guide it so I look you in the eye. "Erik. . . could you please come with me, and stay with me until I fall asleep?"

I swallow, blink and clear my throat. "I could not deny you. . ."

You smile slightly, before giving my hand a gentle squeeze. I rise to my feet, and you begin to walk from the room, not letting go of my hand.

We reach the bedroom, and as you get situated in the bed, I take a seat in the chair beside it. You lay down, and we spend a few moments of silence, gazing deeply into the other's eyes.

"Erik. . ." you whisper.

"Yes. . .?"

"Could you lay down with me?"

A silence. "I do not think that would be appropriate. . . it is your bed, after all."

"Yes, and I am inviting you to lay down with me, in my bed. Why wouldn't it be appropriate? We are — "

I interrupt you, as I know what you are going to say. "Husband and wife. But still."

You are silent for a few moments. "Why don't you want to?" you ask quietly, sounding almost. . . hurt.

"I do," I reply, reaching out and cupping your cheek; you lean in slightly to my touch. "I just would not want to impose. . . we all deserve privacy. . ."

"But I want you to," you reply, loudly, as if to get it through my head once and for all, and that you do.

I rise from my chair and lay down on the bed awkwardly beside you, on my side. "I don't think I could ever become accustomed to this. . ." I murmur.

"To what?"

"Sharing a bed with another."

"Certainly you will not, if you never do at all."

"Why should I?" I ask, stiffening slightly.

You sigh. "Erik. . . why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"Denying me the simple pleasures of what husbands and wifes do. . . acting as if we are not the same as other married couples. . ."

"But we are not," I reply flatly. "I forced you into this."

"No." You shake your head. "I was not forced. It was my own decision. Please accept that. . . I want to be your wife, Erik."

A silence. "Christine. . . you know not what you say."

"Yes, I do," you reply sternly. "I know exactly what I say. How do you suppose I spent the first month of our marriage? I was not only crying, Erik. I was thinking. Thinking about our marriage, about us, about how I want our life to be. . . I want us to be happy, Erik. . ."

"Is that possible?" I ask quietly.

"Of course it is! It would be quite simple if you would just allow it!" You turn to face me suddenly.

"What makes you so certain?"

"I just know this, Erik. . . trust me. . ." Without warning, you reach up and gently pull the mask from my face, cupping my now bare cheek.

"Christine!" I interject angrily. "What are you — "

You silence me by tenderly joining your lips with mine.


	12. Chapter Twelve

_Chapter Twelve_

_Oh Christine._

How can you bring yourself to do this?

Everything was at a complete stand still for a precious moment, and in that moment, all was right in the world, in our world.

I love you, Christine, so much that it is unfathomable.

But do you love me? I still do not know.

My hand travels down to the small of your back, instinctively drawing you closer to me, deepening the kiss; you sigh softly into my mouth, wrapping one arm around my neck.

I pull apart, gazing into your eyes, only to find you leaning in once more, and kissing me again. "Erik," you murmur against my lips. "Erik, Erik, Erik. . ."

How could something ever feel so correct? How had I ever gone this long without your kiss? I had once thought there could be nothing on earth better than kissing you on the forehead, or you kissing me on the forehead.

I see now that I was terribly, terribly mistaken.

Are you feeling the same sensation, Christine? The same heavenly feeling?

I am shocked as I feel your tongue exiting your mouth to gently caress my lips.

Did you learn this from the boy, I wonder.

I could ask you, but why spoil a perfectly good evening?

At long last, we separate our lips, though I keep my forehead against yours. You smile softly, a smile which melts my heart.

But the smile soon fades as I begin to part from you, disentangling myself from your embrace.

"Where are you going?" you ask confusedly.

"I am going to bed. . . I daresay you got what you desired."

"Erik. . ." you say, hurt in your tone, "I wanted you to stay with me. . ."

Your words make my heart ache, and I scold myself for my cruel reaction as I lie down beside you once more.

"Goodnight, then."

I watch in surprise as you part my arms and scoot up close against me, resting your head against my chest. Automatically, my arms wrap around you. This produces quite a pleasant feeling, indeed.

"If I must teach you how to love, Erik," you whisper, "then so be it."

"What do you know of love?" I retort quietly.

"I do know," you reply defiantly, then soften, "I truly do. . ."

You must be thinking of the boy.

"Yes. . . of course. . . Goodnight, Christine."

"Goodnight, darling."

And you drift off to sleep, leaving me to brood upon your parting words.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

_Chapter Thirteen_

_Oh, Christine._

Your eyes have scarcely left my face all morning. You think I do not notice, when I am not returning your gaze, but I do. I can feel your eyes against my skin.

Why do you continue to look at me? Have I changed in some way?

When I meet your eyes, I see something different in your expression, yet I cannot pinpoint what it is. . . When our gazes lock, you hold it for only a split second, before modestly, shyly, averting your eyes to the table.

"Why do you look away, Christine?" I ask.

You seem flustered. "I don't know what you're talking about, Erik."

"You stare at me, then look away when I look up. Why do you look away? Are you shy?"

"No. . ."

"Why do you stare, in the first place?"

You give a graceful shrug of your shoulders, then a nervous laugh.

I return these reactions with a smirk, and a blush rises in your cheeks.

"Excuse me. . ." you murmur, and attempt to rise from the table.

"No," I reply, extending my hand so it touches yours, stalling your exit. "Please stay. . ."

You smile softly, and ease back down into the chair. "Alright. . ." A silence descends.

"Christine. . .?"

"Yes, Erik?" You meet my gaze.

"If you were given the chance to leave me now, and resume your life as it once was. . . would you?"

A silence. "No. . ."

You surprise me. "Why not?"

"I have grown accustomed to life as it is," you reply evasively.

"Yes, but do you enjoy it?"

"Yes."

"You lie."

"Why do you try to force me to say I hate it here, with you? For I do not. Truly."

"And what keeps you from hating it?"

"You, Erik. . ."

I am silent, wordlessly begging for an explanation as I gaze into your clear, blue eyes.

"Oh, please do not ask me to explain. You should know, by now. Please. . . do not turn this into a confessional of my deepest, darkest secrets."

"And what makes them dark?" I exclaim. "How is love dark? Is it because of me? Do I automatically make it dark, and wrong?" These words leave my mouth before I can stop them.

"Erik, what makes the love dark is that I have never felt anything like it before!" You jump to your feet suddenly. "It is so different, so exquisite! The love is like the man it is inspired by! Dark, yet beautiful; perfect, yet flawed!

"And I fear it, yet I adore it! I want to surrender myself completely, yet at the same time, the thought frightens me to death. I want to retain my cursed innocence, yet at the same time, I want it to be banished to some far away place, never to be seen again." You are near shouting now.

"But Erik, what I want most of all is for you to take some of the light in me, and replace it with some of your divine darkness! Make me yours at last! Please!"

You throw yourself to the ground at my feet, and I stare at you in shock.

In the past months, I have gone from hearing nothing from you, to hearing you passionately begging me to claim you once and for all.

"Erik, I know I have pushed you away in the past, even recently," you say suddenly, "but only because I was afraid. Oh, I was so afraid, Erik, but not of you! I was afraid of how much I wanted you, how much I needed you; how much I craved your darkness, your genius; how much I craved for you to become one with me, and share everything that is wonderful about you with me, a lowly chorus girl.

You gave me a taste of you greatness with your music, Erik, but I want more, so much more! I want everything you could possibly give me!"

You rise so you are kneeling before me, and you place both hands on one of my knees. "Please," you plead, "please stop pushing me away, and let me be yours, completely."

I hardly need a moment to think. My lips are meeting yours, passionately, furiously. You throw your arms around my neck, and climb into my lap. "Yes!" you cry against my lips, a cry of pure triumph and jubilation.

My arms wind around your waist, pulling you flush against me.

"Erik," you moan, "take me now. . . take this innocence away from me. . ."

of course, comply.

A/N:)


	14. Chapter Fourteen

A/N: My dear readers, as some of you have requested, this chapter contains sexual material, though not too explicit. If this type of material offends you, please skip over this chap and tune in for the next installment. That being said, on with the chap.

_Chapter Fourteen_

_Oh, Christine._

The sensations you are bringing forth in me!

Small tears of joy and triumph are streaming down your cheeks as I carry you to your bedroom. Already you have begun to unbutton my shirt, slipping your hands inside of it to caress my bare chest.

I release a low moan as I throw the door open and nearly run over to the bed, setting you down upon it. You pull me down, and I settle over you, once you have parted your thighs to accommodate me.

Our clothing cannot come off fast enough; shirt, dress, corset, stockings, chemise, trousers, and drawers fly to the ground, until only one barrier remains: the mask. You remove that, too, and carelessly allow it to drop to the ground.

I bury my face in your neck, pressing kisses to it, then to your soft breasts, as you throw your arms around my neck and release sobs of pleasure.

If I have ever been a monster, I would be now, for my lust, my passion, is burning so hot that it is almost like that of an animal. It is understood that there is to be no thought of propriety now, rules be damned to the very depths of hell.

I press a deep kiss to your lips, and penetrate the temple which is your body. You cry out in pleasure bordering pain as my length fills you, stretching your inner walls, and your hips begin to buckle wildly against my own.

"Say it!" I cry.

"What?" you ask, bewildered and impatient.

"Tell me the deepest, darkest secret of your soul!" My control is slipping.

"I love you, Erik!" you moan, rolling your hips against mine. "I do, I do! I have for some time now! I love you so, that it frightens me!"

We move together, crying out with each thrust, sometimes the others name, other times incoherent moans which indicate our pleasure in the fullest sense of the word.

I pull you atop me, and you release a delighted moan as your body accepts me even further more. Your hips roll against mine, and one more thrust brings us to our simultaneous release.

"Christine!"

"Erik!"

But you do not stop. You lean down, pressing frantic kisses to my bare chest, your hips still rocking wildly against mine, until suddenly you roll off to the side, pulling me atop you once more.

"Love me, Erik!" you moan, splaying your legs as far apart as possible as my hips grind against yours.

We do not stop until early afternoon, and we hold each other in an astounded silence.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

A/N: Hey everyone; I'm glad you all enjoyed the last chapter. Thanks for all the reviews :) On with the chap

_Chapter Fifteen_

_Oh, Christine._

I must know. . .

"Did you mean it, Christine?" I ask you after a long silence.

You raise you head slightly to look at me, spreading your hand out flat against my chest. "Mean what, Erik?"

"What I wanted you to say."

Your eyes widen with realization. "Yes. . ." you whisper, laying your head back down against my chest.

I scoff.

"Do you not believe me?" you ask softly, though evenly. "Did I not just prove it to you?"

"Lust and love are two very different things, Christine. One can exist without the other. Lust, most notably, thrives independently."

You sigh, seeming frustrated. "Fine."

But instead of moving apart from me, as I expect you to, you begin to place soft kisses on my chest. These kisses are worlds away from being lustful; they are tender, gentle, dare I say, _loving._

"Christine. . .?"

You do not bother to respond, your lips still against my skin. Slowly, you move your lips upward, so they caress my neck softly. I close my eyes at the sensation.

I gasp and you smile as you transfer your lips to first my right cheek, then the left. Next comes my chin, forehead, and each closed eyelid.

You are atop me by now, and my hands automatically grasp your waist as you kiss each inch of my ravaged face.

Finally, your lips are upon mine, sealing the act. "Do you believe me now?" you ask, your voice coming out almost as a satisfied purr.

"Almost," I whisper. "But I must know, what did you lie about at Apollo's Lyre?"

You sigh, as if to say, "Still thinking about that?" but you reply, patiently, "I merely modified the truth, and said what I knew Raoul wished to hear. . . for the most part. I said horror is the only thing I feel for you, or felt for you." You brush your lips over mine. "That is not true. . . Oh, Erik, how could I not but be a bit afraid of you, though? Your incredible talent and genius. . . they intimidate me.

"But I know that you are no more than a man. . . A man who loves me very much, and who I love in return. A man whom I want to spend the rest of my days with. . . singing, talking, exchanging stories, and. . . making love." A blush creeps to your cheeks as tears gather in your eyes.

"Wouldn't you like that, Erik?" you whisper.

I reply, "I could think of nothing better, than the things you just listed in combination. . ." I kiss your forehead, and you sigh contentedly. "But please, just promise me one thing," I plea.

"Anything. . ."

"Never leave me."

"Never." You say this word simply, definitively, and I know it is a true promise. You lean down and press a deep kiss to my lips.

I wrap my arms about you as you bury your face in the crook of my neck, your breath warm against my cold skin. "I love you, Erik. . ."

A silence. "I love you, Christine. . . Rest now, darling, I know you are tired."

A small yawn, and quickly you obey.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

A/N: Hello all. Once again, this chapter contains sexual material, though not explicit. If this type of material offends you, please skip over this chapter and tune in for the next. Also, I feel it is my duty to inform you all that this story is nearing its end, but don't worry; I am currently working on a new story based upon lovely Leroux. That being said, on with the chap.

_Chapter Sixteen_

_Oh, Christine._

I feel you stirring; it is the middle of the night. You are partially atop me still; even in your sleep, you do not part from me.

You look up at me and offer a sleepy, though overall pleased smile. "Hello, Erik."

You are beautiful. Your smile is beautiful. The way you say my name is beautiful.

"My love," I greet you in return, and your face lights up as you lean up to press a kiss to my lips.

The nature of the kiss is deviated, however, when we both simultaneously decide to thrust our tongues into the other's mouth, immediately changing the kiss from light and innocent, to dark and passionate.

And yet, we still are innocent, even in our passion. We have not yet had our fill of this; it is merely our first taste. Perhaps that is why we both crave it so.

My hand slips between us to gently cup your breast.

"Erik!" you cry, your hips jumping toward mine, your back arching into me, causing your breast to be held more firmly in my hand.

I smile slightly, and lean my head down to kiss your shoulder.

"Erik. . ." you breathe as my hand snakes down to gently stroke your inner thigh.

"Will you ever tire of this, Christine?" I ask you, whispering into your ear.

"No," you manage, moving your hand to mimic my actions, "never."

"Good."

I move my hand so it brushes past your now wet opening, and you release a shrill cry, forcing my hand back to where it was.

I insert one finger, than another, into you; you gasp in shock — I can just hear you thinking, "Do people do this. . .?" — then release a moan.

You roll off me, so you are on your back, my fingers still within you. Your hips buckle impatiently against my hand. "Erik?" you ask, obviously attempting to sound mellow, but instead my name comes in a shrilly urgent tone.

"Yes?" I ask lazily.

"Are you going to. . . do anything?" You look quite fearful indeed that my answer will be no.

I suppress laughter as I begin to move my fingers within you; you accept them as if they were my length, rolling your hips. I lean down my head and taste your exquisite essence.

"Erik! Do it again!" you cry, raking your fingers through my hair.

I obey, as I feel myself grow harder.

"Erik," you moan again, "I feel. . . something is pending. . ."

A smirk comes to my lips as I slide my fingers out of you, and take in the expression of dull horror on your beautiful face.

Not to worry, I tell you silently as I replace my digits with my swollen desire. A delighted expression overtakes your features, and in only a few thrusts, we both come.

Your body shakes with the intensity of the release, and you hold me against you tightly, kissing my shoulder, as your hands gently caress my back.

"Erik. . ." you whisper again and again, an impossible amount of love in your tone.

I kiss your lips, and slowly slip out of you, settling down on the bed once more. You seem to automatically move into my embrace, and my arms weave around your small, warm body.

"Will we ever leave this bed?" you asked quietly, your lips brushing against the skin of my chest.

I surprise myself by laughing, and apparently, I surprise you, as well, as you look up at me, a smile on your lips. You have never heard me laugh before.

"Whenever you wish to, my Christine. Whatever you wish."


	17. Chapter Seventeen

A/N: Apologies to all for that slight slip in language in the previous chapter; I see what what all mean, and have modified it. That being said, on with the chap.

_Chapter Seventeen_

_Oh, Christine._

You have changed me. In these past months, you have changed my life, even further.

I mean not to sound dramatic, but you and I, living this way, together, has done more for me than I could ever have imagined.

I pray that you feel the same.

From what I can tell, you do.

You come to me every night, whether it be to have me hold you, or surrender your body to me in the fullest sense of the word.

You spend time with me, otherwise, as well. We sing; we exchange stories; we speak quietly of our past, and our fondest memories.

We stroll near the lake; we discuss important matters, showing off our greatly varying opinions and points of view.

I create likenesses of you through paint and canvas, pencil and parchment, and even through music. You accept each piece as the highest form of flattery.

We live as most wives and husbands do, only better: we have a connection of our souls, that not many others can relate to.

Do you acknowledge this, Christine?

You seem to

and I love you for it.

But, Christine, I cannot live forever. . .

The happiness you have provided me with, has sustained me for this long.

In its absence, I would not have lasted this long, by far.

But oh, my heart and mind are healthy, but my body, growing older and older, is not.

I am dying, Christine.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

_Chapter Eighteen_

_Oh, Christine._

Not much longer now, love.

One last painting, one last song, and I took to my mother's bed, our bed.

I have been here for some time now, my strength slowly dwindling, but my will to live stronger than ever before, because of you.

A bittersweet irony that I should get you, all that I've ever wanted, at the end of my life.

You sit by my side each day, struggling not to allow tears to spill down your cheek, and sometimes failing.

Your tears hurt me, make me want to cry out, "She does not want me to leave! Look at her tears, and please have mercy!" But there is no one to hear that.

You take my hand in your own and press a kiss to it.

I have already burdened you with the knowledge of what you must do when I pass. You grew paler and paler with each instruction.

Oh, Christine, you make this so hard, so so hard. For each tear you shed, I wish I had another year to live.

To think there was a time when I wished to die. . .

Death is now my most dreaded enemy, when I once thought of it as my greatest reward.

"Don't cry," I say as I notice tears streaming down your cheeks, falling on my hand. I manage to reach and brush them away. My actions only cause you to cry harder.

"Erik. . . angel. . . you can't leave!" you sob. "You can't leave me here. . ."

"Christine, I. . ." I search for something to say, and come up empty-handed.

Instead, I scoot over slightly, and pat the bed beside me.

Eagerly you climb up and snuggle against me, resting your head against my thin chest.

I wrap my arms around you, and we lay quietly.

"I love you, Christine," I whisper, my eyes sliding closed.

"I love you, Erik. . ." you manage through your tears.

I smile slightly. "Thank you. . . Thank you so much, for everything, my angel. . ."

You kiss my chest.

We lay there for an unmeasurable amount of hours, neither speaking nor stirring.

You simply lay quietly in my arms.

And I die a happy man.

A/N: We still have an epilogue to go, my lovely readers. Hope you enjoyed, as much as possible, given the circumstances, that is. Happy Thanksgiving.


	19. Epilogue

A/N: Thank you so much, everyone, for reading and reviewing. It's been great, truly. I am currently working on a new Leroux story, as I've said previously, so perhaps you will be seeing it soon.

_Epilogue_

_Oh, Christine,_ read the final note he ever wrote to her. She had found it among the enormous stack of manuscripts he had instructed her to sort through, upon his passing. Obviously he had meant for her to find it at this point in the proceedings.

_If you are reading this now, love, it will mean I am gone from you, forever. But do not despair, my wife, for you must have learned, by now, that I never truly leave you. I have always been there, whenever you called out my name, I was there for you. Nothing has changed now. I watch over you from wherever I now am, and my love for you grows with each passing day, as I think of the time when you will join me._

Tears gathered in Christine's eyes. "Oh, but why can't I join you now?" she whispered.

_However, you have a long, full life ahead of you. I am sorry I could not join you in it. You have my permission to do whatever you wish to make your life without me as happy as possible. Leave the house, never return, leave France, even, if that is your wish. _

_But please, Christine, remember these last things, before you go and begin your life anew once again: Keep the gold ring with you forever more. _

_Leave all my music, my paintings, anything which I have created, where they are. The world may never see them. They were meant only for our eyes and ears. You may sell any of the other belongings. _

_Notify the Daroga of my passing; his flat is located on the Rue de Rivoli, and if you ask around, you are sure to locate him. He will take care of any further arrangements. _

_My Christine, pay me this finally tribute: never forget the sound of my voice. Each night, imagine me singing you to sleep, singing you a lullaby, and you never will forget me, I never truly will be gone. I love you._

_--Your Erik_

Tears were now streaming down Christine's cheeks, spilling down onto the note. Quickly she blotted the moisture away, and clutched the parchment to her breast.

"I will never forget you, Erik. . . I cannot. . ." she whispered. "Forever you will have my soul."

_Fin._


End file.
